Crying wondering, “why me?” why so many bruises between my legs and knees. Sore. Tender. From the bruises he left me. Hurt. Pain. From living like I do. Tired of having to forgive and forget what my ex use to do. This word called hatred was something that was burning inside of me. Against my ex and of course my father who let this happen to me. Forgiving? Never once crossed my mind. Letting go? Was something I always wanted to do at that time. But how? How can I let go? If I have to live with the bruises they left me. Yes, they. My ex and of course my father. I came in this earth not knowing how a woman should be treated. In my mothers’ womb, this all came to me. Feeling pressure, against my mothers’ tummy. Hearing tears and yelling that I assumed was my father. But the tears? Always was my mother.


Lying in the middle of the street on the side of the theaters. Telling this boy that I thought I loved. “STOP, you’re hurting me.” “Please!” “I’m sorry for pissing you off.” “Just let me go!” Those simple words went in one ear and out the other. He didn’t listen. And I got what he thought, I deserved. Yelling at the top of my lungs for help and no one came to my rescue. Nobody was there to help me. All I could do was hear him tell, “You’re mine and you’re my property.” “If I go down, you for sure going with me.” “If you ever tell anybody, what I’m doing to you, I swear to God I will kill you softly!” The beating started again. Punches after Punches. Bruises after bruises. Name calling was starting to be a flashback. “You’re my b****” I couldn’t see anything but the end of my skirt. Covering my entire sweaty eyes and head. But that name. Oh, that name he use to call me. Made my ears bleed. I was starting to make a bloody river. I started to…. I blanked out. I literally blanked out. Am I dead? Was I being vanished from this earth? Nobody really knew what happened to me. This again. A flashback of what happened to me in my mothers’ womb. Death. Was this thing named death happening right before my eyes? It couldn’t have been.


My eyes widen in this little white room while doctors looking at me, as if I was a flower that couldn’t be bloomed again. Like I couldn’t be recovered from what has happen to me. They were given up on me. And so did my family. Shoot, why am I lying? Better yet, the whole world did. My friends didn’t see me as me. They just saw my life. My life was all a mystery. No one understood. Nobody ever knew. Knew what he did to me because the whole thing seemed untrue. They saw me as a crazy girl. But why did this have to happen to me? Why couldn’t I be seen as Jasmine? Am I really covered by what I didn’t want those to see?


Later, I was circled around those who were just like me. Hurt, ashamed, terrified of their past and life long story of abuse. Those who assumed they could relate to my story. I thought if I told my story of my past life, they would connect like webs and flies. But not at all did that ever happen. They just looked at me with a blaze in their eyes as if I just told a sinners lie. I told them constantly these bruises that you see, I never wanted to be. I never wanted the one who said they loved me to hit on me. They just stared at who they see as a crazy girl. Why can’t they really see? See me. A girl who is calling out for help and need. I’m asking once again, can you really see?




Police officers trying to get me to understand, what I was thinking was just a dream. I told them no. that’s what they want it to be. This is me, the real me. Trying to tell you the truth what has really happened to me. They just looked and stared as those people who said they could relate to my story. Why do I feel alone, alone in this big world? Everyone is a blind mouse who can’t see me and my story. I cry out, “Why can’t they see, why can’t they see a true flower blooming in me?